Talk: With Leander Witt

Collected by James Ward Lee
and Ralph E. Roberts for
Mary Celestia Parler
Transcribed by Frances Majors
Conversation with Leander Witt,
Mrs. Witt.
July 19, 1958
Hindsville, Arkansas
Reel 239, Item 1
Leander Witt: I was in the field this morning, my horse up to the plow,
standing there between the handles waiting there for it to get
light enough to see how to get corn with it. And I'd stay there
till night— of course, I'd stop for dinner— when I got back the
stars were shining.
Ralph E. Roberts: You used to work— you took every step that the horse
did. You followed right along—
L.W.: Darn right.
R.R.: Those were the days.
LW: I've seen the time— I've known lots of people. There never was
a horse nor a mule that ever lived that could plow me down. I
could take it from morning to night— go right on.
RR: My mother and dad were raised a t . . . Springs, Missouri, or
southeast Missouri, and mother and dad tell how her folks has
to operate back in the days when they first settled in that
country from Kentucky—I believe it was. And there weren't
shoes enough to go around.
LW: I can remember back when there wasn't any matches.
Mrs. Leander Witt: When folks went to church they had to go barefooted.
LW: What do you think about that? No matches.
James Ward Lee : I've tried to start it without matches. I'd never
get anything on fire, unless lightning struck it. How did you
start them? With flint?
Mrs. LW: Flint rock and gun powder. They'd sit down and work till eleven
o'clock trying to got fire.
LW: Back them days in the big old timber, they'd cut it down and
there was stuff in there they called punk. You could take that
out and dry it and if a spark of fire ever touched that it would
catch. You could go to blowing that as hard as you could and
first thing you know you'd have fire.
RR: What kind of timber— what kind of trees?
LW: Oaks.
RR: Oaks? Hmm.
LW: I can remember back when there was timber in this country that
would make your eyes water. My daddy homesteaded that place
over there on East Greasy Creek, up on Mount . . . . There was
big old long stately bark white oaks in there, fifty foot, and it's
just as straight as an arrow. He homesteaded that place and
Conversation with Leander Witt (Cont'd)
Reel 239, Item 1
built a little log house. All them back in those days had.
fireplaces. I can remember the first cook stove my mother
ever had.
JL: You were a great big boy, I guess?
LW: I was a great big boy.
JL: (to Rrs. LW) Did you ever cook in a fireplace?
Mrs LW: Lots of times- -I'm seventy-four years old.
LW: My mother had one of those great big skillets with a lid to it.
JL: On little legs?
LW: Yes, she done all her baking bread and frying neat and every­thing
in that skillet,—
JL: I've seen folks make bread in skillets.
LW: — right on the fireplace.
Mrs. LW: Good, too— bread and sweet potatoes baked that way.
LW: They'd cover up that fireplace of a night. If the fire
happened to go out you'd just have to go to your flint rock— there
was no matches in the country.
JL: I'd never get that flint rock started.
Mrs. LW: You'd learn to use flint rock. That's what he was telling
you about a while ago.
LW: When we come to this country my daddy homesteaded that place
over there. There wasn't no sawmill in the country— couldn't
get no lumber nowhere. Roved right in on the dirt floor.
He had an old . . . and I can remember him going off of that
mountain down to the house carrying a wash kettle, up this
way over his head, and I was a-riding that old ...
Mrs. LW: And it was two or three miles, wasn't it?
LW: Yes. And there wasn't a day's work you could get to do.
Rrs. LW: Those were hard times.
RR: That was a hard time, wasn't it?
LW: He finally got a job with an old farmer over there who had
been there a long time and had a great big bunch of cattle.
He bought two cows off of that feller. Hauled them out a-naking
rails at fifty cents a hundred.
Mrs. LW: Fifty cents a day.
LW: Fifty cents a hundred.
Mrs. LW: Fifty cents a day, my daddy did.
LW: Well, I've worked many a day for fifty cents myself.
JL: What do you do when you "maul" a rail? Do you mean just
splitting then?
Conversation with Leander Witt (Cont'd)
Reel 239, Item 1
LW: Split them out.
Mrs. LW: That's the kind of fence they used to have.
LW: I've heard lots of people say— old people (and I don't think
they'd lie about it)— I've heard them say that they could
toko a chopping axe and go out and cut their timber and
split four hundred rails a day.
RL: You use a wedge— little wedges?
LW: Yes.
RL: I heard somebody tell me the other day, just a story some­body
heard, about a fellow that was out splitting rails, and
the Indians cone up on him. Two Indians were going to scalp
him. And he had those wedges in there, and he told those
Indians, said, "I don't mind your scalping me but let me
get this rail split first."So you go on and just help me—
just put your hand in there and hold it apart while I go
on down splitting." When they got their hands in there he
knocked the wedges out and just left the Indians there. There
are lots of rail fences— lots of them.
LW: Well now, that's not impossible .
RL: No.
LW: We don't know what happened way back in earlier days.
RL: I'd like to hear that banjo— try that banjo one more time.
Have you ever heard yourself sing? Let's see how you sound—
how you sound to you.
LW: Hell, I can't p ut no songs together. Now music, that's a
funny thing— if you don't get one exactly in tune it's no
good. (Strums banjo.) That is on old one I used to play,
but it's done gone out of my mind. Now fellers, my voice is
gone. I can't sing worth a snap and I hate to sing for
people—
RL: I'll bet you can.

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Collected by James Ward Lee
and Ralph E. Roberts for
Mary Celestia Parler
Transcribed by Frances Majors
Conversation with Leander Witt,
Mrs. Witt.
July 19, 1958
Hindsville, Arkansas
Reel 239, Item 1
Leander Witt: I was in the field this morning, my horse up to the plow,
standing there between the handles waiting there for it to get
light enough to see how to get corn with it. And I'd stay there
till night— of course, I'd stop for dinner— when I got back the
stars were shining.
Ralph E. Roberts: You used to work— you took every step that the horse
did. You followed right along—
L.W.: Darn right.
R.R.: Those were the days.
LW: I've seen the time— I've known lots of people. There never was
a horse nor a mule that ever lived that could plow me down. I
could take it from morning to night— go right on.
RR: My mother and dad were raised a t . . . Springs, Missouri, or
southeast Missouri, and mother and dad tell how her folks has
to operate back in the days when they first settled in that
country from Kentucky—I believe it was. And there weren't
shoes enough to go around.
LW: I can remember back when there wasn't any matches.
Mrs. Leander Witt: When folks went to church they had to go barefooted.
LW: What do you think about that? No matches.
James Ward Lee : I've tried to start it without matches. I'd never
get anything on fire, unless lightning struck it. How did you
start them? With flint?
Mrs. LW: Flint rock and gun powder. They'd sit down and work till eleven
o'clock trying to got fire.
LW: Back them days in the big old timber, they'd cut it down and
there was stuff in there they called punk. You could take that
out and dry it and if a spark of fire ever touched that it would
catch. You could go to blowing that as hard as you could and
first thing you know you'd have fire.
RR: What kind of timber— what kind of trees?
LW: Oaks.
RR: Oaks? Hmm.
LW: I can remember back when there was timber in this country that
would make your eyes water. My daddy homesteaded that place
over there on East Greasy Creek, up on Mount . . . . There was
big old long stately bark white oaks in there, fifty foot, and it's
just as straight as an arrow. He homesteaded that place and
Conversation with Leander Witt (Cont'd)
Reel 239, Item 1
built a little log house. All them back in those days had.
fireplaces. I can remember the first cook stove my mother
ever had.
JL: You were a great big boy, I guess?
LW: I was a great big boy.
JL: (to Rrs. LW) Did you ever cook in a fireplace?
Mrs LW: Lots of times- -I'm seventy-four years old.
LW: My mother had one of those great big skillets with a lid to it.
JL: On little legs?
LW: Yes, she done all her baking bread and frying neat and every­thing
in that skillet,—
JL: I've seen folks make bread in skillets.
LW: — right on the fireplace.
Mrs. LW: Good, too— bread and sweet potatoes baked that way.
LW: They'd cover up that fireplace of a night. If the fire
happened to go out you'd just have to go to your flint rock— there
was no matches in the country.
JL: I'd never get that flint rock started.
Mrs. LW: You'd learn to use flint rock. That's what he was telling
you about a while ago.
LW: When we come to this country my daddy homesteaded that place
over there. There wasn't no sawmill in the country— couldn't
get no lumber nowhere. Roved right in on the dirt floor.
He had an old . . . and I can remember him going off of that
mountain down to the house carrying a wash kettle, up this
way over his head, and I was a-riding that old ...
Mrs. LW: And it was two or three miles, wasn't it?
LW: Yes. And there wasn't a day's work you could get to do.
Rrs. LW: Those were hard times.
RR: That was a hard time, wasn't it?
LW: He finally got a job with an old farmer over there who had
been there a long time and had a great big bunch of cattle.
He bought two cows off of that feller. Hauled them out a-naking
rails at fifty cents a hundred.
Mrs. LW: Fifty cents a day.
LW: Fifty cents a hundred.
Mrs. LW: Fifty cents a day, my daddy did.
LW: Well, I've worked many a day for fifty cents myself.
JL: What do you do when you "maul" a rail? Do you mean just
splitting then?
Conversation with Leander Witt (Cont'd)
Reel 239, Item 1
LW: Split them out.
Mrs. LW: That's the kind of fence they used to have.
LW: I've heard lots of people say— old people (and I don't think
they'd lie about it)— I've heard them say that they could
toko a chopping axe and go out and cut their timber and
split four hundred rails a day.
RL: You use a wedge— little wedges?
LW: Yes.
RL: I heard somebody tell me the other day, just a story some­body
heard, about a fellow that was out splitting rails, and
the Indians cone up on him. Two Indians were going to scalp
him. And he had those wedges in there, and he told those
Indians, said, "I don't mind your scalping me but let me
get this rail split first."So you go on and just help me—
just put your hand in there and hold it apart while I go
on down splitting." When they got their hands in there he
knocked the wedges out and just left the Indians there. There
are lots of rail fences— lots of them.
LW: Well now, that's not impossible .
RL: No.
LW: We don't know what happened way back in earlier days.
RL: I'd like to hear that banjo— try that banjo one more time.
Have you ever heard yourself sing? Let's see how you sound—
how you sound to you.
LW: Hell, I can't p ut no songs together. Now music, that's a
funny thing— if you don't get one exactly in tune it's no
good. (Strums banjo.) That is on old one I used to play,
but it's done gone out of my mind. Now fellers, my voice is
gone. I can't sing worth a snap and I hate to sing for
people—
RL: I'll bet you can.